


In a Flash of Blue

by doggoneit



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character(s), Smoking, sibling soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doggoneit/pseuds/doggoneit
Summary: "Legends and myths tell us humans used to live as individual souls in individual bodies, but they were fragile in that state. Left alone, humans were too volatile and ended up self-destructing. They needed another soul to make up for the imperfections, so humans became two souls in one body that lived harmoniously together and in society."Usui is the key.She can lead Aoba to the soulmate that he never knew.But she disappeared.Maybe she's never coming back.





	In a Flash of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally for DMMD Bigbang 2017 but things happened and I didn't upload in time :/

They called it an arena but it was just a patch of dirt surrounded by a chain-link fence, hardly anything worthy of a game that used to garner so much attention.

Rhyme used to be one hell of a spectacle, organised battles raging in lit stadiums and televised to the entire nation of Midorijima. Now they were just alley games played for pocket money.

Sometimes Aoba thought back to those matches and craved the surge of adrenaline that came with Usui’s deep, booming voice and the audience’s frenzied screams. It had been a while since he heard either of those.

He ground his boots into the dirt, eyeing his opponents and their avian Allmate. He’d seen the brothers around, always dressed in thick leather and heavy chains that clanked with every step. They were highly regarded in the arena but he’d never had the opportunity to fight them before today.

The brothers strolled the perimeter, rolling their shoulders to show off their tightly coiled muscles and goading the audience into jeering at Aoba. What a useless effort to intimidate—Rhyme was rarely physical between players and this one-sided pissing contest was just a show for an audience who didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything.

This game had really gone to shit.

“On the red side looking all done up in fetish gear, yeah, that’s right, fetish gear, we have the brothers Daisuke-Hideo and their birdy Allmate… Wingo!”

Aoba barely suppressed a snort. Wingo? Lame.

“And over on the blue side in a blue jacket, I see what you did there, bud, pal, mate, love the matching outfit, we have Ao—uhh… it’s just Aoba? Where’s the other name?”

“Get on with it!” Aoba shouted at the commentator. This one didn’t know when the hell to keep his mouth shut.

“All right, all right, calm your tits, man. Sorry folks, looks like we don’t get to meet the brother today. So you lot are going to have to settle for Aoba and his doggy Allmate… Ren!”

Cheers and whoops rose and died as the digital field rose like a tsunami and caged them in an endless ocean of blue, taking all the noise of the outside world away. A shudder jolted down Aoba’s body as his every instinct screamed  _home_.

A moment of reprieve and then the Allmates appeared in their digital forms, barely humanoid and their eyes covered by some sort of accessory. Wingo emerged just as finely decorated as his owners and he stretched his grotesquely elongated arms out and let out a bloodcurdling shriek that resonated throughout the field.

Aoba flinched, but took comfort in Ren’s presence. Ren was a solid and steady form in a signature navy shawl who didn’t bother with theatrics; he preferred not to make a fool of himself and watched impassively as Wingo continued to scream.

Aoba took the chance to cast his gaze around. A field of blue and green grids that stretched as far as his eye could see, and yet none of it showed him what he wanted to see most.

_Where did you go?_

“Aoba,” Ren said in his deep timbre.

Hope dimmed but still flickered in Aoba’s chest.

Maybe next time.

“Ren.” Seconds before the battle began, Aoba let his fangs shine though with an animalistic grin. “Get ’em, boy.”

 

.

 

The digital field dissolved back into the crappy dirt and fence arena, and all the sounds of the real world rushed in and bombarded Aoba’s ears. Laughs, cheers, curses.

The standard fare.

Aoba scooped Ren up into his shoulder bag and ignored the screams of pain, physical and mental, coming from the brothers and their broken Allmate. They could heal the wounds on their body but that Allmate was fried to its core. Aoba took no pleasure in destruction, not like he used to, but now he did it because it was easier than letting his opponents come back stronger.

This was the way of Rhyme now, where anything that happened in the digital world impacted the physical world. Ever since the Glitch, as it was known, the rules of Rhyme had been twisted into something fierce and violent. It wasn’t about fame and glory anymore; it was about fame and glory and  _blood_.

All the better for Aoba—blood brought money.

“That should tide us over for the next week,” Aoba absentmindedly said as he brushed past onlookers milling around the arena. There were a few familiar faces who gave lukewarm greetings and he returned them with casual nods.

“It is more likely to last us the next four days,” Ren said, resting his muzzle on the outside of the bag and letting his little tongue loll out. “My body sustained minor damage that will cost us in repairs.”

Aoba pursed his lips. He relied heavily on the money from these matches because they paid for his ailing grandmother’s medicine, and to have such a large portion of it rerouted elsewhere was rather inconvenient.

Ren was an older model of Allmate and his parts had to be specially ordered and delivered from overseas. The cost of maintaining him was becoming unfeasible, especially since he had to keep participating in Rhyme just to bring the money in to repair him. There would come a day when Aoba would have to admit it was endless cycle going nowhere, but for now he curled his fingers into Ren’s soft fur and told himself there was still time.

“Aoba?” Ren asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Aoba said. “We’ll make the money stretch the week.”

“You cannot continue brushing off your own medicines to pay for Tae’s,” Ren said. “It is having a negative impact on your health and I do not wish to see it deteriorate into a larger issue.”

“It won’t,” Aoba insisted, wondering about the number of times he’d thrown his prescriptions into the bin just to scrounge up a few extra bills. No doubt Ren could tell him and give the exact dates and times to boot.

There was another match coming up and from the chatter in the crowd, promising to be a good one. Aoba wasn’t particularly interested in matches outside of his own, and weaved through the throng of bodies, scanning for one face in particular. He found them on the fringe of the crowd, lazily holding a cigarette between their fingers and observing the growing commotion.

Every individual had their peculiarities despite sharing a body and these two were no different, no matter how similarly they tried to present themselves. It was all too easy to see through them when Aoba had known them for so long.

“Virus, Trip.” Aoba elbowed them in their ribs, making them choke on the inhale. “Thought you guys were trying to quit?”

“We were, but Trip was insistent.”

Names weren’t necessary to know which of them was speaking. Virus always stood with relaxed shoulders and head tilted sideways in the perfect picture of patronising curiosity. Trip, on the other hand, always stood back hunched and spoke in a bored drawl like he couldn’t give two shits about conversation.

The only thing they shared in common was their pride in their horrible fashion sense. They liked wearing high-end clothes and they sported a gaudy suit as usual, today a checkered pink and blue. Aoba secretly thought they were colourblind and had no clue how hideous their combinations were, but he’d never been able to prove it.

“Trip, you should be more considerate of your health,” Aoba admonished. “It’s not just your body, you know.”

Heat smouldered in his chest; maybe it was jealousy, and it burned too close to destruction. Aoba took a second to calm himself, sweeping his fringe to the side. It grated on his nerves how others took their soulmates for granted—if only they knew what it was like to live without their most precious person in the world.

But he kept his mouth shut.

“Trip’s of the opinion that we ride and die together,” Virus dryly said. “He’s always been the more melodramatic of us. But we’re not here to talk about Trip’s more abominable qualities—we’re here to talk about your money. I’ve already transferred your winnings to your account. It could’ve been more, you know, if you’d let the match last longer than one minute.”

“Whatever. Sign me up for more.”

“Don’t push yourself, Aoba.”

“I don’t need you to mother me.”

“It comes from a place of concern,” Virus said. “That’s not something to be ashamed of. We all need someone to take of us, don’t we?”

Aoba glared, knowing exactly what Virus was referring to, but not getting into it. Virus had a tongue that could cut through glass and engaging with it would only end in humiliation. He changed the subject instead. “What have you heard about Usui?”

Virus dropped the cigarette onto the ground and snuffed it out with the sole of their polished leather shoe. “There hasn’t been anything new,” he said. “We’ve asked around the different sectors but everyone’s story is the same. All matches running at the time glitched out. When the technicians got the fields up again, Usui was gone and she hasn’t been seen since.”

Aoba let out a frustrated huff. He’d hoped that Virus and Trip, with their yakuza contacts, would have more information surrounding the mystery of the Glitch but apparently this was beyond them too.

“No-one’s seen Sly Blue either,” Virus pointed out. “Why do you keep refusing to enter using both names? You would see a far greater profit considering people love a bloodbath, and we all remember how bloodthirsty Sly Blue could get.”

“He’s not real,” Aoba said. “He never was.”

He didn’t elaborate anymore on that point—all Virus and Trip needed to know was that he didn’t share his body with another soul. Maybe even that was too much information. There were times he caught their pitying stares and he didn’t want to know what they’d look like if they knew he’d created another voice in his head to pretend he wasn’t broken.

“If that’s all, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Aoba turned on his heel and began walking off, but not before one last person chipped in with a lazy drawl.

“Give your grandmothers our best.”

Aoba flipped them the finger without looking back. He only had one grandmother and those bastards knew it.

 

.

 

Rhyme had always been one of those things Aoba could lose himself in for hours. It was so easy to step into a field and let himself get swept into the tide and forget about everything in the outside world. Rhyme was safe, and it was home.

The only thing Aoba disliked about the game was how it left pains shooting through his head and down to the tips of his hair. It cascaded down in waves, and only hospital-grade painkillers could take it away. It didn’t help that Virus and Trip chose to be jerks today, because it meant they chose to cut him open and sprinkle salt in his wounds.

Aoba found himself traipsing to Black Needle, a bar and parlour hybrid that his long-time friends Mizuki and Chino ran. The three of them had known each other since their early troublemaking teen years and somehow always stayed close.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our favourite Rhymer finally dropping in for a visit.”

Aoba stepped through onto shiny black and grey tiles, and squinted to shield his eyes from the flashing neon lights. Those obnoxious things were going to do his head in, though it spoke volumes that Mizuki hurried to turn them off and gesture for him to take a seat at the bar.

“Thanks,” Aoba said, sitting on a stool and setting his bag on the next one. “The match today was a breeze, but damn if it wasn’t a pain in ass too.”

“I still can’t believe you gave up Rib.” Mizuki clucked his tongue and gave a sad shake of his head that didn’t fool anybody. Sure, Rib had been great—the physical nature of it was addictive like a drug but it could never compare to the familiarity Aoba soaked in when he fought in Rhyme.

“There’s no money in Rib,” Aoba reminded. “It’s all about territory and that’s not the life for me.”

“Money isn’t everything, you dumb fuck.”

Aoba resisted the urge to roll his eyes and gave a wry smile instead. “Hello, Chino.”

Where Mizuki exuded an aura of warmth and friendliness, his brother was the complete opposite. Chino stood with hunched shoulders and a perpetual sneer that warned people away, but there were times he liked to invade people’s personal space and make them piss their pants.

It happened once, with a salaryman who refused to stop hitting on Aoba because he believed in all of his drunken glory that Aoba was a siren. He’d spouted awful lines about Aoba leading him to water and how he’d willingly drown for a chance to spend a night with him.

It was only funny when Chino lost his patience and told the salaryman to fuck off or he’d drown the dumbass himself.

Chino leaned over the bar and into Aoba’s space, so close they were almost nose to nose. “Rib’s got family and that’s where the shit is. Come back and join Dry Juice—Mizuki’ll suck your dick for free.”

“He’d do that anyway,” Aoba shot back.

Chino gave a sharp bark of laughter and in his moment of surprise, Mizuki wrested control of their body again.

“Shut up!” Mizuki snapped, olive skin tinted a telling shade of pink. “I would not!”

“Of course not.” Aoba appeased him, trying not to let his amusement show but he could feel the corners of his lips twitching. Chino had long informed him about Mizuki’s crush and it was impossible not to poke fun sometimes. “Chino would do it for you anyway.”

Mizuki’s face went up in flames and that let Chino take control again. Sometimes it felt like whiplash with how often and how quickly these two switched places, but it was nice to have the chance to talk to them both equally.

Aoba envied them that.

“I’d take one for the team and blow you,” Chino solemnly said, all traces of scorn and mockery gone. “Fellas aren’t my type but you look so much like a girl sometimes I don’t think it’d make much of a difference.”

“Fuck you,” Aoba said. He’d heard enough jokes about his sex to last a lifetime.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too. What’d you crawl into this hole for anyway? Don’t suppose you’re finally reconsidering my offer to tattoo your ass?”

Aoba burst out laughing. He remembered that night with great fondness, mainly because Mizuki and Chino had been completely sloshed and ended up revealing each other’s dirtiest secrets in a nasty cycle of revenge. That was how Aoba came to learn about Mizuki’s crush and Chino’s desire to tattoo a heart on him. At least Chino owned up to it and proclaimed the tattoo would be free of charge. Mizuki though? Still in denial anything ever happened.

“Nah, I just wanted to catch up and have a drink.”

“Sure you should be drinking with that headache of yours?” Chino clearly didn’t care either way, having already brought out two ice-cold beers, and slid one over to Aoba.

It was probably a bad idea but the pain already hurt so much a little more wouldn’t make much of a difference. It would eventually disappear anyway, he’d just need time.

Aoba grabbed the bottle, delighting in the sensation of the cold glass numbing the tips of his fingers, and clanked the neck against Chino’s bottle before taking a sip.

“So let’s drop the whole  _I’m fucking dandy_  pretence and do the whole  _weary customer spewing their troubles to the weary bartender_  thing. We all know you don’t come here just to say hello anymore.” Chino produced a rag and pretended to polish the counter. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

It’d be all too easy to punch Chino in the face, but Aoba knew with all the certainty in the world that they’d end up in an all-out brawl that would cost heaps in property damage.

Instead, Aoba gave a vague wave of his hand. It was slightly insulting how easily Chino saw through him but it was the truth. Aoba rarely came by Black Needle anymore, unable to find his place amongst members of a Rib gang when Rhyme was his life. Nowadays, he only visited when he needed a drink and a place to think.

He did regret that.

“It’s the Glitch,” Aoba said. The incident had been mysterious and the consequences following it dire. Even the oldest citizens who knew nothing about Rhyme were aware of its downfall and its current pitiful state. “I’m still trying to glean information where I can but it’s frustrating. Everything so far has led to dead ends and it’s getting to the point I’m afraid there’s nowhere else to look.”

“Sounds like your yakuza boys and hacker boys are doing jack shit,” Chino commented, grabbing his beer and taking a heavy gulp.

“They’re doing their best,” Aoba defended them, knowing they were a fickle lot but would put in their best effort anyway. No-one on this island could do what they did. “That being said, I’m screwed so badly I might as well be a cork.”

Chino snorted, almost spraying the counter he’d just pretended to clean. “Tell you what,” he coughed, setting his bottle down with a clunk, “I might be able to point you to someone who can lend a hand.”

Chino, dropping the asshole façade and being actually being helpful?

Hell’s freezing over, Aoba thought.

“What’s the catch?” he said out loud. “I’m still not letting you tattoo my ass.”

“There goes that idea.” Chino gave an easy shrug. “But no, that’s not the catch. There’s no real catch, not the way you’re thinking.”

“So…” Aoba hedged.

“How much do you believe in the whole mystic bullshit deal?”

Aoba narrowed his eyes, trying to see if a smirk lay hidden behind sharp eyes and even sharper teeth. He wouldn’t put it past his friend. “Are you taking the piss?”

“At you? Nah, never. So come on, you believe or not?”

“Not particularly,” Aoba answered. The only experiences he’d had with this kind of thing were psychic weirdos calling him up and coaxing him to pay top dollar to find out when he’d meet the love of his life. Once was funny, twice was amusing, and every time after that was plain annoying. “Don’t tell me you do. That seems more like Mizuki’s kinda thing.”

“Yeah.” Chino gave a strangely affectionate nod. “He’s into all of that mystic magic crap, but I figure it’s more convincing coming from me because you know I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of those cheap tricks.”

If Aoba didn’t know any better, he’d accuse Chino of having him on. Chino was the world’s biggest sceptic and didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t verify with his own two eyes. Whatever he was talking about now had to be really unbelievable, yet promising, if he was forced to acknowledge its existence.

“Does that mean you believe in psychics now?” Aoba asked.

“I believe in Mink,” Chino corrected. “He’s some oldass felon running some oldass shop in some oldass part of town. Word on the street is that he’s got magic in his blood, and sees into the spirit world or talks with them or some other weird and otherworldly crap. Point is, Mink’s been in a couple of times and we exchanged ink for readings. The bastard’s freakishly accurate.”

“Are you sure you didn’t get completely hammered around him and started spilling all of your secrets again?” Aoba teased. Chino had a nasty habit of doing that and oftentimes Mizuki was powerless to stop him. No-one could get between Chino and alcohol on a good day and there was no point trying on a bad day.

Chino ignored the jab and raised one hand to the teardrop tattoo on their cheek. Slowly, he said, “Mink knew things only Mizuki and I should know.”

That stopped Aoba in his tracks. The teardrop tattoo? Aoba had pestered them about that since day one and never received an answer to allay his curiosity, not even when they were drunk to the point of unconsciousness. Neither brother ever broke their silence over the significance of the tattoo, and it remained one of the biggest mysteries in Aoba’s life. The idea that a stranger was aware of its meaning was unsettling and astonishing at the same time.

“You’re sure this Mink is legitimate?” Aoba doubtfully asked.

“I’d bet my soul on it,” Chino said. “The shop name’s Scratch. Go talk to him, tell him I sent you. He can do his weird magic and help you out but I’m telling you now, you’ll have to pay one hell of a price.”

That wasn’t much of a deterrent at all. Money was not an issue, not when Usui was involved.

“How much does he charge?”

“Not that kinda price.” Chino pulled a face and waved his gloved hands about. “He takes whatever shit he fancies. Calls it sentimental equivalency, whatever the hell that means.”

This pricing system was a foreign concept but it did not wane Aoba’s curiosity. If anything, he had been properly baited and hooked onto this strange man called Mink and the strange powers he possessed. Aoba had his doubts, certainly, but at this point he stood to gain more than he stood to lose.

What was the harm in trying?

“I’ll check them out,” Aoba decided. “What’s his brother’s name?”

Chino shrugged. “Beats me, guy’s never mentioned it. Keeps it under wraps from everyone, and he won’t say why. He’s just Mink, like you’re just Aoba.”

“You don’t think…” Aoba trailed off. What were the chances that there was someone out there who was just like him?

“He doesn’t have a soulmate either? I don’t know. You can ask him if you’re brave enough.” With a snigger, Chino’s good cheer returned to full force.

A quick glance out the window told Aoba there were still a few hours left of daylight, so he picked up his bag and hefted it over one shoulder, careful not to jostle Ren who was slumbering. “I’ll see if the shop’s still open then.”

“Aoba.”

Aoba tilted his head in response to his name, and blinked at the softer features that meant it was Mizuki reaching out.

“He’ll take anything, so beware.”

 

.

 

Aoba hadn’t thought much of what Mink could take from him, not until Mizuki saw fit to warn him. What could he possibly give Mink that had the same value as the information he wanted?

The worries that nipped at him didn’t stop him seeking Scratch out. It was a dinky little thing hidden in the corner of a lonely street. The surrounding buildings blocked off the sound of traffic and pedestrians from the main road. It was a narrow and muted space that soothed his senses and allowed his nerves to ease.

Aoba gingerly pushed the wooden sliding door to the side, careful not to put too much pressure on it because it felt worn and fragile under his fingertips. It opened up to the interior that gave off the same weary feeling as its exterior, dim with minimal lighting filtering through the roof slats and aged furniture warm with quilts and cushions.

What could be seen as entirely in place or entirely out of place were strange trinkets that littered the shelves and hung from the ceiling beams, chains so fine they looked like they would snap with the slightest tug and pendants with strange designs he’d never seen the likes of before. They winked prettily with the soft lighting and emitted warm welcomes.

Aoba cast his gaze around; it didn’t look like there was anyone else in the shop. “Hello?” he called, wandering through the shelves and brushing past the trinkets. “I’m looking for Mink. Is he here right now?”

No response.

Aoba began thinking he had come at a bad time, but then the floorboards creaked with heavy footsteps and a door behind the counter opened up and revealed one of the biggest men Aoba had ever seen. He stood tall and sure, and every action held careful intent behind it. His golden eyes swung and settled on Aoba.

“You’re looking for me?”

When Chino said Mink said otherworldly abilities, Aoba created a vague image of oversized glasses and thick lenses, wrinkled hands that made themselves at home waving over crystal balls and an unearthly voice that wailed prophecies. But the man that stood in front of him could not have been further from that stereotype; his large frame radiated calmness and protection, and Aoba knew he could trust this man.

“Chino sent me. From Black Needle.”

Mink dipped his head in acknowledgement, brown dreadlocks swaying around his square face, and made his way around the counter to take a seat at one of the couches. He motioned for Aoba to do the same.

“Mizuki-Chino.” Mink’s voice rumbled, deep and gravelly like rocks crunching on a mountainside road. “The tattoo artists. They were presumptuous to send you here.”

“Presumptuous?” Aoba repeated. “You mean I shouldn’t have come?”

“Mizuki-Chino have good intentions but they have overestimated my abilities in this case. I know why you’re here. I cannot give you the information you seek.”

“What?” Aoba started. How could this be possible? He’d barely been in this shop for thirty seconds and this lead was disappearing before his very eyes. No, he was not going to let this man dismiss him so quickly. “You can’t possibly know the specifics. You can’t decide already that I’m a lost cause!”

“If Mizuki-Chino sent you, then you know what I’m capable of.” Mink sighed and reached into his jacket to pull out a case which had a wooden pipe in it. He took his time lighting it up blew a plume of smoke up into the air where it swirled with dust motes. “I can see how it danced around your body, broken and yearning. You search for your brother but I cannot help you find someone who no longer exists.”

Icy fingers gripped Aoba’s heart.

It can’t be, he wildly thought, he can’t be dead!

“He’s alive!” Aoba shouted, slamming his palms on the table before them. “I know it, I felt him!”

Mink’s penetrating eyes tracked his every move, steady and watchful, a silent observer in his upcoming breakdown. “You’ve made contact,” he said.

Aoba hadn’t meant to let that slip. He’d held it close to his heart as his own little secret—only Ren knew and that was because he had been there too.

It had been a Rhyme game, it could never be anything else, the ones back in the day when the whole island considered a sport worthy of investment.

And Usui was there.

Aoba had always noticed Usui, fascinated by the contrast between her feminine figure and masculine voice, but respected the person behind that persona and never approached them outside communicated with them beyond a Rhyme capacity.

But the match had gone wrong; Aoba let his guard down for moment and he’d been blasted off his feet and onto the other end of the field. In the moment he was suspended in the air, Aoba’s hand passed through Usui’s and he didn’t know how to describe what happened except  _connection_  and a burst of familiarity and longing for something his body once knew.

_Brother_.

The other soul who should have shared his body, his thoughts and his heart. It had once been his, but it had been taken from him, and he wanted answers.

“The truth,” Aoba said. “It was me. I caused the Glitch.”

Mink said nothing, just kept puffing away at his pipe, and stared down at Aoba with an indecipherable look. Maybe it was condescension, maybe it was pity.

“That’s how I know he’s still alive,” Aoba pressed on, desperate to keep the flicker of hope in his chest burning just a little while longer. “The Glitch is proof that he exists.”

Maybe Aoba’s conviction did something to crack Mink’s walls, or maybe Mink really did feel sorry for him. Whatever the reason, Aoba didn’t care, Mink pulled the pipe from his lips and handed him a lifeline.

“I cannot tell you where he is. But I can tell you how you two came to be. The price, as you know, will be steep.”

It wasn’t the information Aoba came for but it was information nonetheless. There was no hesitation and it was almost laughable how desperate he was to snatch at scraps of information about his soulmate.

He would gladly pay any price.

“Name it,” he said.

“Your brother is important to you, and his existence will grow far more so in the coming days. For this information, you will be required to pay with ten strands of your hair.”

Aoba’s hands instinctively flew over his head in a protective gesture; pulling them out would be a simple task for anyone else but to him it was different—the nerve endings in his hair would screech like writhing, tortured souls.

“That is the price,” Mink said, not even surprised at Aoba’s reaction.

It would hurt. It would hurt like severing a finger from his body and he wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from falling. But it would mean knowing the soul that should have shared a home in his body, and that alone was worth anything.

Aoba slowly let his hands fall from his head. It would stop hurting in a few hours, he convinced himself, the strands would grow back like they were never cut. The pain would be nothing compared to what he had to gain.

Mink slipped a small pocketknife from him jacket. It had a wooden hilt with a faded floral design painted onto it and a string of beads dangling at the end. Aoba took it and flicked it open, then held the blade to the roots of his hair.

Heart racing, deep breath, then—

_Scream._

“It doesn’t hurt,” Aoba gasped, clutching the long blue strands in his shaking fist. He couldn’t see past the tears blurring his vision; he swiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and blindly thrust the strands and the knife in front of him. “They’re yours.”

“You paid with more than ten strands,” Mink mildly said as the tucked the pocketknife away and gathered the strands of hair together with genteel care. He must have noticed the surprise on Aoba’s face because he added, “I know how precious your hair is, and I will treat it as reverently as you have.”

Aoba’s breath came out in stutters but the pain, which had felt like a slicing burn, was already fading to a sharp throbbing at the newly cut ends, and soon would be nothing more than the ache of a memory. The fact that Mink did not trivialise his pain helped him push it aside, and he sat up straighter.

“Will you tell the story of us?”

“Yes.” Mink began twisting the strands together like he was creating a small rope. It was an odd splash of colour on his otherwise grey appearance. “You know how soulmates first came to be, yes?”

“Balance,” Aoba said. “Legends and myths tell us humans used to live as individual souls in individual bodies, but they were fragile in that state. Left alone, humans were too volatile and ended up self-destructing. They needed another soul to make up for the imperfections, so humans became two souls in one body that lived harmoniously together and in society.”

“As our fathers and their fathers before them have told us,” Mink murmured. “They are only stories, and we could never hope to find proof of how we came to be. Yet the story resounds across every nation, so there must be a grain of truth to it. Is that what you believe?”

“I… uh…” Aoba had never put much thought into it before, not being the type to think too deeply about things in the first place. The story of how soulmates came to be? He’d always treated it as a tale that mothers told their children, with no substantial evidence to back up its claims. But now that it had been posed as a question, Aoba found he didn’t have such a concrete answer after all. “I’m not sure?” he offered. “I’ve never had the chance to think about it.”

“I’m offering you the chance to think about it now,” Mink said. “Do you think it’s possible for humans to be born with only one soul?”

“It has to be.” Without thinking, Aoba pulled on a strand of his hair and shivered at the sensation that travelled up to the roots. “I’m living proof, aren’t I?”

Mink slowly shook his head. “There is no human being on this earth that does not have someone bound to them. Your bond exists but it is frayed, meaning you were once bound but then forcibly torn apart. The bond between soulmates is sacred, and someone has caused you the greatest offence by tearing it apart.”

“So I… we… were together?” Aoba asked. “But how? You can’t take a soul out of a body, can you? It’s not… it can’t be a physical thing you can just remove.”

Mink tapped the strands of hair still in his hands, being knotted and tugged into shape. “Have you never wondered why your hair can feel? Surely even someone as dense as you realised there is something unique about that.”

“Hey!” Aoba protested, not entirely sure where that jab had come from but he couldn’t deny it to save his life. So what if he could be a bit of an airhead? His hair was just another thing he’d grown up with and never saw it as a big deal. Apparently, he was very wrong on that count. “What’s it got to do with my soulmate?”

“Your hair feels because it’s alive. It’s alive because it was the only thing linking your to your brother, the only part of your bodies that made you one.”

“Linked… by our hair?” Aoba looked at the strands in his grasp, like examining the ends could give him greater insight into this revelation. “That’s still two bodies, isn’t it? How does that even happen?”

“It was one body,” Mink said. His pipe was still burning away, and every puff sent up a plume of smoke that made the shop hazier. Or maybe Aoba’s head was spinning with all the new information too.

Two beating hearts, one living body.

It hurt so much more to know.

“I cannot tell you the circumstances that led to your separation.” Mink’s fingers worked deftly like he had done this a million times, no doubt a master of this craft. “But what I told you earlier remains the same. I cannot help you find your brother because he no longer exists in this world. He hasn’t for quite some time.”

“How?” The word felt thick in throat, a lump that he had to force out. “How did he—how was he—”

“You do not want to know,” Mink interrupted. “The truth will only cause you pain.”

Aoba shook his head doggedly. He’d come this far to find the truth, and he would listen to all of it because he needed the endless questions and sleepless night to  _stop_. “Tell me.”

Mink regarded him for a moment, sizing him up, maybe wondering how far he could be pushed before breaking down. Aoba tilted his chin forward defiantly—it’d take more than words to push him away.

“You were violent before.”

The non-sequitur threw Aoba off. “Huh?”

“You were destructive, and needed someone to temper the rage that festered within your body. You created a persona, gave it a name and a life but it was only a paper soul.”

“Sly Blue,” Aoba murmured.

“Paper crumbles far too easily,” Mink continued. “Your brother was the same, needing a persona to keep himself sane. He created an extension of himself as you did.”

“Usui.”

That, Aoba knew without a doubt. He still remembered his hand passing through hers during the match, and the shock of familiarity that surged into him because it was home.

“She disappeared when I touched her,” Aoba said. Then he shook his head and added, “Sly Blue did as well.”

“There’s no reason for them to exist when you found each other again,” Mink said.

“That doesn’t explain why you keep saying my brother’s dead,” Aoba said. “Sly Blue’s gone, but I’m still here. Usui is gone, but my brother’s gone with her? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Think carefully,” Mink said, lowering his eyes to the growing band of blue. “What happened after you touched Usui’s hand?”

Afterwards? Aoba had been reeling from the shock to notice much of anything. He vaguely remembered a dark silhouette, a shrill scream that rang in his ears and the field around them dissolving back into reality.

Why did his soulmate scream?

“Blue light,” Aoba muttered. “There was a bright—it was Ren’s. He felt it, the shock. He thought it was an attack and he—oh god, he—”

The Glitch.

Where everything that happened in the digital world impacted the physical world.

“It was Ren,” Aoba realised. “He  _killed_ —”

“He was not to know.” Mink’s hands stilled and he brushed a calloused thumb over the knotted parts of the band. “He thought he was protecting you.”

Aoba squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look down at his bag where his Allmate was hibernating. How could he face Ren after this, knowing everything that had been in his reach had been snatched away just as fast as he had found it? How could he use Ren again in a Rhyme match knowing he was the reason he could never find joy in the thrill of the game again? How could he look Ren in the eyes knowing he was a murderer?

Aoba shot up from his seat, teetering on his heels. There was too much flying through his mind right now, a hurricane that needed time to weaken and die. He grabbed his bag, still not looking at the blue lump inside, and stumbled towards the door.

“Is that it?” Aoba asked, keeping his head low and eyes on the smoked wood flooring. “Anything else I need to know?”

“That was the information for my price.” Mink stopped knotting the hair and pulled the pipe from his lips to set it down. “You have, however, paid above that set price. You are welcome to return should there be more information you seek.”

What else could Aoba ever care to know? Today had been enough. God only knew how Mizuki and Chino handled their sessions with Mink and kept going back for more.

“There is no deadline,” Mink said. “Whenever you are ready, whenever you have questions, you are welcome in this shop.”

It was too real, too raw, to think about that now.

A small thought niggled at the back of Aoba’s mind and he blurted out the one thing that Mizuki and Chino had been needling the man about.

“Who’s your soulmate? The one you refuse to acknowledge?”

Maybe Aoba was hurting and he wanted to hurt someone too. Why else would he pry into such a private and personal matter that Mink had gone to great lengths to keep quiet?

Mink stared at him, seemingly calm and composed as though he’d expected the question. “The answer will not benefit you in any way,” he said. “It’s a worthless thing to waste your hair upon.”

“But it’s important to you,” Aoba pressed. “That’s balanced, isn’t it?”

Mink was silent for a moment more, then gave a slight huff either in exasperation or amusement. “Lulakan.”

“Lulakan.” Aoba rolled the name on his tongue, and tasted its foreign origins. “Why do you hide him? Are you ashamed of him?”

“Never,” Mink growled, his golden eyes flashing with indignation. “He is still a part of me.”

“Then why?”

Mink turned his head, the first show of uncertainty since Aoba walked through the shop door. “He doesn’t speak to anyone.”

“Not even you?”

“…No.”

What was it like, to have a constant companion that chose to stay away?

“Must be lonely,” Aoba said.

“You must know what that’s like.”

Maybe they both knew that special brand of loneliness that came with being the only active souls in a body, but Aoba couldn’t imagine how Mink was living day to day. Aoba’s soulmate couldn’t speak to him and Mink’s brother wouldn’t speak to him—there in that choice lay silent and deliberate harm.

“Enough with this.” Mink waved him off with a large hand. “You need time to grieve.”

Aoba clutched his fingers tighter around the strap of his bag. “Am I still welcome to return?”

“You’ll have to trade again.”

That didn’t mean much. No trade would ever hurt as much as this one.

 

.

 

Lying in his bed with only blinking lights outside and the dull sound of traffic to accompany him, Aoba shuffled until he was on his back and stared up at the rood.

The initial shock had worn off and there was only numbness in his heart and in his mind, like a wall that was stopping him from falling to pieces.

He couldn’t stop touching his hair, running his fingers through the strands until they came to an abrupt stop at the ends. They never should have ended, but instead flowed on and connected him to his brother.

Aoba brushed his finger against the tips, wondering who had the merciless heart to cut them apart and how the two of them must have wailed from both pain and loss. Hurting children? It wasn’t humane.

There was no getting sleep tonight—not even music could calm his racing mind. Instead, Aoba tapped on his coil and brought up a game he’d received months ago. It’d been sent to him anonymously, and there had been no way to trace the number since it had come up as various shapes and symbols. But once Ren had confirmed it was safe, Aoba had downloaded it and spent his spare time playing it. It appeared to be released in parts, and there had been no updates for quite some time. Still, he had to beat the most current level.

Aoba tapped the screen and watched as his avatar traversed pixelated lands and fought pixelated monsters to get to the princess trapped inside the castle. These retro games all had the same kind of theme, but it never got old. This one in particular never failed to bring a smile to Aoba’s face—the character designs were cute and the music was catchy.

Once his avatar was inside, it was a battle against the boss monster who had kidnapped the princess and kept her prisoner. It was a tough end battle, and Aoba always got stuck at this point, but he glared at the screen and tapped so hard his nails clacked loudly against the glass.

_Ka-boom_.

The boss monster opened its mouth to scream in defeat, then blew up into a pixelated mushroom cloud. The feeling of victory came and went—Aoba was far too drained to enjoy it properly and he half-wished he’d left it for a later time when he could appreciate it better.

But it was done, and all Aoba could do now was wait till the next update. He was about to close the game when the princess suddenly took off her crown and presented it to his avatar. The crown floated in the air, bobbing up and down invitingly. Aoba held his finger over it hesitantly. What was he supposed to do?

Slowly, he pressed his finger down on the crown and the screen went black. Then, one word appeared, one letter at a time.

s e i


End file.
